


The Phoenix

by Ninja_Librarian



Series: Voltron Whump Week 2017 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: But it gets fluffy right at the end, Day 3: Blood Loss/Near Death, Implied torture from Shiro's missing year, M/M, No Season 3 Spoilers, Tagged for graphic depictions of violence but I'm not really sure that they are graphic?, Voltron Whump Week, lots of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninja_Librarian/pseuds/Ninja_Librarian
Summary: Hey young bloodDoesn’t it feel like our time is running out?I’m gonna change you like a remixThen I’ll raise you like a phoenixWearing our vintage miseryNo, I think it looked a little better on meI’m gonna change you like a remixThen I’ll raise you like a phoenixPut on your war paintDay 3:Blood Loss and/orNear DeathKeith must fight in the arena until Shiro comes... or he dies.





	The Phoenix

Keith glowered at Haggar, sneering at her, though he knew there was nothing he could do while he was chained to the wall.

He growled at her as she grabbed him by the chin, her yellow eyes boring into his purple ones.

“Red Paladin of Voltron,” She hissed. “We meet at last… I’ve been dying to meet you… The Champion has told me so much about you. Not willingly, of course.”

Keith surged forward, snapping his teeth at her face.

“Oh, my, there’s the Galra in you,” Haggar cooed, her hand snaking into his hair, fingers getting near the root before jerking his head backwards in her vice grip. “Does it bother you, Red Paladin? How do you feel knowing I have seen the most intimate parts of your lover? That I have touched him inside and out in ways you never will? Physically? Mentally? Emotionally?”

“Go back to hell,” Keith snarled, though his eyes were quickly filling with tears of pain and his vision was full of stars.

Haggar smirked.

“Oh, I’ve got a better idea… How about I give you a taste of what your precious lover, my Champion, experienced during his stay under Zarkon’s rule.”

“I don’t care if you torture me, or cut off my limbs, or even turn me into a Robeast,” Keith snapped.

Haggar’s smirk grew.

“My dear, foolish little boy… Oh, how you wish that is what I did to you…”

*

Keith wasn’t sure where the bright red fabric had been located, and didn’t particularly care as the guards forced the fabric over his head.

“Let everyone know that he is a Paladin of Voltron,” Haggar hissed from the shadows. “And let the entire universe see what weaklings pilot Voltron.”

Something was thrown at Keith’s feet, a sword, mostly dented and in a crude version of his bayard. Even in the low light, Keith could see that the blade was dull.

“Welcome to the Arena, Red Paladin,” Haggar whispered into his ear. “I’ll make this easy for your simpleton brain. The next round begins as soon as the previous one ends. Your opponents are allowed to accept defeat; you, however, are not. You will continue to fight and win each round until one of two things happen. Either you die… Or the Champion returns and surrenders himself to me.”

Keith’s hands were unbound and the sword was placed in his hands before he was roughly shoved into the arena. As cheers surrounded him, Keith felt dread pool into the bottom of his stomach.

The dread did not come from the sight of his first opponent, easily three times his height and six times his weight, carrying a much larger, much sharper weapon.

No, the dread coursed through him because he knew Shiro would come.

And Keith couldn’t let Haggar get her claws on Shiro again.

*

The Marmora trials were almost easy by comparison.

At least the Blade members only had swords. Swords Keith could deal with. Swords Keith did deal with, at first, getting short-lived satisfaction of watching his opponent yield with Keith’s crude, dull blade to the throat.

He couldn’t tell how many he had beaten by then, how many hours he had been fighting.

All he knew was blood dripped from him, his muscles screamed in protest, his breathing was ragged, his flesh was charred…

As the corpse of his last opponent was taken off the ground, out of the arena, Keith fell to his knees, coughing and vomiting out the very little nourishment that the druids had given him. Blood was splattered on the ground in front of him. He had no idea if it had fallen from the wounds on his face or if the blood had accompanied the vomit.

He hoped for the former.

He catalogued his injuries with a groan. He only was certain of when the first injury occurred, but the others…

The others all blurred together.

His right shoulder had been dislocated when opponent number three had thrown him into a pillar; he had managed to get it back in place during the short time between that opponent leaving the arena and the next one entering, grunting with pain.

Opponent number four took advantage that he was weak on both sides—Keith was using his non-dominant hand and his dominant side was injured. The gashes that number four left on face and sides were finally scabbing over.

The next opponent had a gun. Keith could handle that; he had spared against Lance—gun set to stun versus sword with a protective guard—on an almost daily basis.

Unlike Lance’s bayard—which had a narrow, precise focus—opponent number five’s weapon had a wide shot and none of Lance’s accuracy. The latter should have been a good thing for Keith, but the wide shot meant that even when the shots didn’t hit their intended target, they still struck. He had a particularly nasty burn just under the right side of his ribcage as a result, as well as similar wounds on his left calf and just above his right knee.

Dagger to the right thigh.

Broken ribs.

A series of puncture wounds around his right ankle, a similar one around his left arm.

A gash above his left hip. 

Four long claw marks down his back.

Broken nose.

Black eye.

Two broken fingers.

His middle finger on his right hand was completely dislocated, meaning his grip on his sword was completely off-balance.

_At least I can flip off everyone,_ He thought as he stuck that finger up, unable to get it to curl around the hilt.

He pushed himself up, slowly, achingly. Watched through tired eyes as the arena door opened…

He watched as a huge snake-like being emerged. It had a human-like head, that of a beautiful woman with long black hair and a face that would have been prettier if not for the forked tongue and fangs sticking out of her mouth, hissing and spitting.

_Naga,_ His brain unhelpfully supplied. So much time had passed since those afternoons holed up in the library, avoiding going back to his foster homes, studying encyclopedias of mythical creatures.

The knowledge wasn’t going to help him here.

He had to win.

He had to live.

He sucked in one final breath before surging forward with a yell.

The Naga hissed, blocking his blow with metal gauntlets on her arms, throwing him back before striking at him with her tail. Though his legs and abdomen protested, Keith brought his knees to his chest, ducking out of the way, rolling on the ground away from the Naga as she turned around, snarling.

He went for the tail next, landing a cut that made the Naga scream while surging forward, hands going for his neck. He wasn’t fast enough this time. She got a hand around his throat, pinning him to the ground. Keith brought his knees to his chest and pushed against the thick, muscular, scaly body with his feet to no luck.

Grimacing, feeling his air constricting, he quickly moved his feet further back, smirking at the surprise on the Naga’s face as his legs wrapped around her neck right before he used his legs to throw her over him. The Naga screamed again and Keith leapt to his feet. He had to get away. He felt dizzy. He was trembling. He had lost so much blood.

He had to keep going.

He started climbing one of the columns, getting some height advantage. He timed it perfectly as the Naga approached. He leapt from the column, pushing off with his feet, sword swinging towards her neck.

She was faster, surging forward.

He screamed as he fell from the air, the back of his thigh burning.

He forced his eyes to open as he heard the Naga approach.

His heart sank and his stomach twisted as the Naga smiled at him, black eyes flashing.

She wasn’t moving, wasn’t getting closer.

But she had already won, he realized.

The Naga’s fangs were venomous.

He was dying, and it was not a merciful or heroic death, and they both knew it.

He felt his eyes roll back in his head as the pain blinded him.

There was a large boom.

He heard the roaring of the crowd turn into yelling, the Naga screaming, things crashing.

A roar.

Hands on him, lifting him, moving him.

“I’ve got him, but he’s in bad shape. Coran, prep a healing pod. Lance, Pidge, status? Great, now get out of there and let’s wormhole out.”

That voice.

He must be dead if he’s hearing that voice again.

He opened his eyes and saw the familiar red glow that surrounded him.

And the grim, familiar face that was above him, one arm holding Keith tight while the other piloted the Red Lion.

Red. And Shiro.

He must really be dead if his two favorite people—well, favorite person and favorite mechanical space Lion—were with him. He heard Red, purring and keening, apologizing for not coming sooner.

Shiro glanced down, smiling softly at seeing Keith’s open eyes.

“Hey, buddy, how you feeling?” He asked.

“Like I kept going through that quiznaking door back at the Marmora base,” He croaked. He winced, gritting his teeth, tensing as a fresh surge of pain went through him. “Leg is on fire…”

“Coran, he’s got a bite wound from that last creature,” Shiro said. “It’s causing Keith a lot of pain.”

Coran’s voice crackled in through the speakers. “The female Nagini is venomous. Fortunately, there’s a hypodermic injection full of anti-venom in the Lion’s emergency aid kits. You’ll need to get it in about four inches above the wound”

“Roger that,” Shiro said, carefully moving the arm that was around Keith to get to the emergency kit.

“Oh, that’s a nice welcome home gift,” Keith groaned, already having calculated exactly where that needle was going. “I’ve always wanted a hypodermic needle full of anti-venom in my butt.”

“Considering your welcome home gift to me was a meal of ramen noodles and Oreos, I’d say this is pretty good.” Shiro said teasingly, uncapping the needle.

“Hey, there were Oreos!” Keith said, burying his face in Shiro’s chest plate. “You like Oreos…”

“They were stale and you had licked the cream out of about half of them, then put the cookies back in the container. Seriously, babe, who does that?” Shiro said. “Hold still, okay?”

“I would have picked up a box of that crappy macaroni and cheese you liked if I had gotten more of a warning that you were finally coming home.” Keith pointed out, tightening his arms around Shiro’s neck. He squeezed his eyes shut as the needle pierced his skin, relaxing when Shiro removed it.

He smiled, though, at feeling Shiro’s fingers in his hair, fingertips gently massaging his scalp, the lips against his forehead.

“I’m sorry it took so long, baby,” Shiro whispered, voice tight with concern, frustration and sadness. “We’re going to get you patched up, okay? I promise. I’m not going to leave you from the moment you enter the pod to the moment you're out of it.”

“I know,” Keith said, closing his eyes. “And it’s okay. Just glad the Witch didn’t get you like she wanted. And remember to eat. No, never mind, you won’t. Remind me to have Hunk remind you to eat. And I want a lot of cuddles when I get out, got it?”

“Yeah, buddy, I got that. Trust me, you’re not leaving my sight or getting out of arm’s reach for a very long time.” Shiro said, guiding the Red Lion into her hanger. “Hey, Keith?”

“Hmm?” Keith mumbled, opening his not-bruised eye blearily as Shiro stood up, carrying him out of the Lion.

Shiro placed another kiss on Keith’s forehead. “It’s good to have you back.”

Keith smiled up at Shiro before snuggling back in, the words that had become their personal version of ‘I love you’ warming his heart. “It’s good to be back.”


End file.
